


Recurring

by VickyVicarious



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Character Study, Developing Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-13
Updated: 2013-09-24
Packaged: 2017-12-26 11:37:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/965492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VickyVicarious/pseuds/VickyVicarious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emma has nightmares; Hook is there when she wakes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Emma has this recurring nightmare. In fact, it's her first memory, but she prefers to think of it as a nightmare. She prefers not to think of it at all.

She's three, and she's _happy_. She wears little bows in her hair because Mommy likes them, and every night Daddy reads to her from his favorite book, though she doesn't understand many of the words or even the story – she's happy just to listen to him. She's a good little girl. She eats whatever's been put in front of her and she's always got a smile for anyone because her life is simple and sweet and she is happy.

And then one day Mommy comes home from the doctor's with a look of absolute joy on her face, happier than Emma's ever seen her. And they paint Emma's white walls a bright blue, and Daddy is so excited when Mommy's tummy starts to grow, and they both start to look at Emma a little strangely. She can hear them arguing late into the night, because their home is tiny and the walls are thin, but it's all the home she's ever had or wanted. She still wants it. She wants it more than anything; she doesn't understand when Daddy sits her on his knee and has a talk with her about there being only so much space, only so much money. She has to go, he says. She has to go so they can keep the baby.

Who cares about the stupid baby? Emma asks, but he doesn't answer, just sets her down and looks at her sadly. She tries again: Get rid of the baby. Keep _me_.

Five days later, she watches him drive away. She's wearing a bow in her hair, and she has a book in her hand, but he's leaving and Mommy wouldn't even look at her this morning.

(Fifteen years later, she gets rid of her baby, and tells herself it's in his best interests.)

* * *

Neverland is quiet at night.

At the risk of sounding cliché, it's _too_ quiet. Something about the stillness in the air makes Emma shiver despite the balmy weather. She can _feel_ the lack of change and it feels very wrong. Perhaps she is just imagining things, she is worried for Henry after all, but the last time Emma doubted her instincts Tamara killed Neil and kidnapped her son. She has to trust in herself. She can't afford not to. And Neverland feels _wrong_.

"You don't like it, darling?"

She glances over her shoulder to see Hook approaching her position at the rail. They've dropped anchor for the night, supposedly so that everyone could get a good night's rest while they're still in relatively safe waters, but somehow it's not a surprise to see the Captain still up and about at this late hour.

"Don't like what?" she asks, turning back to stare out at the dark sky. There's very little moon, but the stars shine impossibly bright, lighting up the night more than she'd ever have believed possible.

Hook sidles up next to her, a little too close, and gestures grandly out at the water before them. "Neverland, of course. Usually visitors find it quite the beautiful land."

"Don't see any _land_ ," Emma quips. She considers moving away, but Hook's shoulder isn't quite touching hers yet, so she ignores it for now. The warmth is welcome, despite the summery weather. Something about Neverland makes her want to hoard everything even slightly good close to her, or else it will be snatched away forever.

Henry's absence aches.

"It is beautiful," Emma admits, after several minutes of silence. "And I'm sure the island will be even more so. But it's just so – something about this place seems… very wrong. Especially now that it's night."

Hook shifts a little, and now their shoulders _are_ touching. But just barely. He holds onto the rail with both hook and hand, and doesn't look her way. Emma doesn't look at him either, instead staring down at the intricate pinpricks of reflected stars in the ocean.

It seems like minutes before he speaks, though she knows it's only been a handful of seconds. Time seems fluid, here. Emma can understand how hundreds of years could pass by without notice. The thought terrifies her.

"You're quite astute," he says, a smirk in his voice. "It takes most much longer to see past Neverland's beauty, no matter how they've been warned. But then, perhaps I shouldn't be surprised. You're a regular Lost Girl, love."

Emma snorts. "If I'm a Lost Girl, then you're a Lost Boy."

"Aye."

Hook's answer is far too blunt – it catches her off-guard, and she actually turns to face him. He's closer than she thought. "What, really?"

"I've never worked for Pan, no, but in the same way you're a Lost Girl… yes. I suppose I am." Hook's face is solemn. He glances from her, to the dark water, and back. "We're too far from the island to hear it, but their cries for home fill the night."

Emma stares at him, their shoulders pressed together and heads close. She swallows – at his words or his proximity, she can't say.

But still, she doesn't move away.

And for reasons she doesn't quite understand herself, Emma speaks. "There's a book, in my world," she says. "You're in it. Actually – everyone's in these stories, Snow White and Prince Charming and the Evil Queen and – and Cinderella and the Mad Hatter and… Anyway, this book, _Peter Pan_ , it's about here. Neverland. You're the villain actually, Peter is the good guy."

Hook scoffs.

"He – sort of anyway, more in the movie than the book, but – all the stories are wrong, in my world." Emma defends. "Or, not wrong necessarily, just… twisted. But this book, it has you and your pirates, and the Indians and mermaids, and Tinker Bell and Peter Pan and his Lost Boys, and – it was always my favorite story. I kept getting passed around different homes, I never had a family, and that book was one of two things I kept the whole time. My – it was a gift."

Hook's tilting his head down towards hers, leaning closer, and he's turning her to face him now, her hip resting against the rails. Emma doesn't know why she hasn't stepped back yet. She doesn't know why she can't stop _talking_.

"I always wanted to go to Neverland," she admits. "It's what I'd daydream about when things were bad, when – I just loved the idea. No one there had any parents, so I wouldn't be missing out. They – they didn't _need_ them, I thought, and they just had fun and never grew up. And I didn't want to grow up, I hadn't ever met an adult who made me want to be like them some day, I just wanted to stay a kid forever."

Hook's eyes are dark and understanding. He doesn't interrupt her, just listens, even as he wraps his left arm around her back and drags her closer. His right hand smoothes back her hair and his fingers are very warm. For a moment, Emma can't breathe. He bends his head until their foreheads touch and she can taste his breathing.

"I was _wrong_ ," Emma says, lips almost brushing against his as she speaks. "I wasn't even a kid, not really. I haven't ever really been one. I grew up too fast, and that was the opposite of the book's message anyway, but this place – this is _worse_ than that. I can… I can just tell."

"Emma..." Hook says. His voice is low and a little raspy. She thinks this is the first time he's called her that since she left him at the top of the beanstalk.

"We have to save Henry," she whispers, throat aching. "We have to get him out of here as soon as possible. I can't leave him in this place."

Hook's hand twitches against her cheek. He closes his eyes, and leans his forehead into hers a little harder. Emma becomes aware for the first time that she's holding onto his shirt. All this time he's been leaning in, has she been pulling him?

"I swore my services to you, Swan," he says now, eyes still closed, arms still wrapped around her. He pulls back, and she has to make herself let go. If she were thinking straight at all, that would surely terrify her, but her nightmare has driven all such logic out of her. Or… maybe it's the magic in the air.

The hook under her chin startles her, and Emma blinks to see the man himself peering down at her. Their gazes lock. "I'll swear again now if you like," he promises. "We will save your son."

And in that moment, Emma believes him completely.

"We should get some sleep," she says, glancing away. "We'll need our strength tomorrow."

A slow, oddly sad smirk crooks Hook's lips. "Aye, that we will."

They separate without any further words, and head off to their respective beds. For the first time in as long as she can remember, Emma is able to sleep soundly after her most regular nightmare.

Hook's eyes have bags under them the next morning, but she pretends not to notice.


	2. Chapter 2

When Emma dreams of Neal, it's not the big things. It's never been the big things with him; if it were, he wouldn't matter so much.

Instead, she conjures up brief images, sensations: the scratchy blanket from the motel where they spent their first night together, the way he used to snitch cinnamon and Swiss Miss for her, the feel of his laughter muffled against her bare skin, the petty arguments over who drove. Taking a shower together and sharing someone else's shampoo. The roughness of his hand around hers.

Never the first time they say, "I love you," but how he used to tease her about her bedhead in the morning.

Never the arrest, but her release from jail: walking out into the sun with nothing but a swan on her neck and car keys in her pocket. A map of Tallahassee in the glove compartment.

Never the last time they say, "I love you," but the way Henry's shoulders slump as she tells him for the second time that his father is dead.

Emma dreams of little things, pinpricks really. But they never end, her heart is a pincushion and sometimes she's afraid she won't ever wake up, she won't ever run out of little hurts.

Sometimes she's afraid she will.

* * *

Emma is already in a booth at Granny's with a double order of pancakes and hot chocolate with cinnamon in front of her before she remembers that Regina takes Henry on Fridays. As soon as the thought hits, she can't believe she could ever forget; but as sheriff she does have to take the night shift sometimes, and she's tired. David would be happy to help, but Emma doesn't want to keep him from Mary Margaret. Walking in on them once was scarring enough; she'll let them spend their nights together in peace, thank you, and they can repay her by restricting themselves to nights _only_.

Of course, that would be a more convincing reason if this weren't the third day in a row Emma's pulled night shift. Mary Margaret and David are most likely spending all night discussing how worried they are about her, judging by the looks they've been directing her way. Those looks just make Emma want to retreat _more_.

With a sigh, Emma drops her head into her hands. Somehow, forgetting where Henry would be this morning makes her feel like crying. She's exhausted, and she isn't thinking straight, let alone doing her job properly – last night she fell asleep on her desk, though that didn't last more than an hour before nightmares had her jolting up again. She can't keep on like this, Emma knows that.

She knows she's just running.

She knows, even, that she isn't fooling anyone.

But she doesn't _care_. Emma just wants them all to leave her _alone_ for a little while, just to give her a chance to try and recover and not have to think. And it seems like working overtime is the only way to do that. She's not cruel enough to leave town, not yet, and in any case he could follow her –

Breathe, Emma. Breathe.

"You know, all else aside, I _do_ find myself rather fond of this realm's food."

She jolts up, eyes wide with shock, and grabs at her butter-knife before recognizing the voice and lowering her hand quickly. Hopefully no one noticed that.

"Neverland's left her mark on you, I see," Hook says, hardly glancing up from where he is carefully pouring spirals of syrup over his pancakes. "Useful reflexes, darling, but rather barbarian for a princess at table."

"What the hell are you doing?" Emma hisses.

In response, Hook uses his fork to cut a large piece of pancake, before putting it in his mouth and chewing. He looks up at her, mouth moving with deliberate slowness, eyes challenging.

Emma is vaguely aware that people are watching her. Her jaw is clenched tight. " _Hook_."

He swallows, grins, and sips at his hot chocolate. "Swan."

"That's for Henry," she grits. She feels on the verge of breaking – into tears, into violence…

"Your lad? Funny, that, I just passed him and Regina in one of your mechanical carriages. I doubt he'll mind me cutting in."

– into laughter. Emma tries to stifle them, but the giggles slip out anyway, one by one. Hook pauses with the mug halfway back down to the table, surprise and something like pleasure on his face.

"What?" he asks, and Emma _can't_. She puts her elbows on the table and laughs into her hands, glancing up at Hook every few seconds only to laugh harder. She is sitting in a diner, being served by Red Riding Hood, eating breakfast with Captain Hook who has a _whipped cream moustache_. She is spending her nights at the station to avoid her parents, Snow White and Prince Charming, who are stifling her because they're worried about her reaction to the miraculous safe return of Rumpelstiltskin's son, the father of _her_ son, who is being driven to school by the Evil Queen while Captain Hook sits across from Emma with whipped cream on his face, asking her _what_.

It's getting hard to breathe, but Emma can't stop laughing. She can't. Hook's looking less and less amused, she knows she sounds a little bit hysterical – she _is_ a little bit hysterical…

"Swan," he says, more softly than she'd have expected. "Swan… Emma?"

He's making her name into a question, a question that she doesn't think she can ever answer. His eyes are dark and focused, his knees (she notices) crowding hers under the booth, his hook lying flat on the table. He starts to reach out with his hand, grazes her fingers with his own, and Emma yanks herself back violently before she even realizes, laughter cutting off.

He stops, arm outstretched, and the look on his face. Emma feels sick.

"I'm – I'm sorry," she breathes, as he pulls his hand back, "I just –"

Hook shrugs stiffly, settling back in his seat, and just that tiny movement away has her feeling frantic. She snags a napkin, leans across the table. Catches his jaw with one hand. Scruff against her fingers. Wipes at his mouth. Once. Twice.

He stares at her.

Emma swallows hard, sitting back and showing him the napkin. "Sorry, you just had…"

She snickers a little, again. She feels dizzy. She eats a few bites of pancakes, but they are much too heavy in her stomach.

Hook takes it all in. After several minutes, he smiles. "Ah."

Emma drinks her hot chocolate, wishing she'd ordered coffee. Probably she should not have touched him. "I'm… sorry, I'm just _so tired_."

It comes out much more honestly than she meant it to. Hook's smile drops – because of course he caught that, he understands exactly what she isn't saying. He always understands what she doesn't say, he always catches her out and Emma can't _handle_ that now.

But then he smirks, does something lightheartedly lewd with his tongue, "Well, I've a perfectly serviceable bed in my quarters. More than serviceable, actually; it's downright _heavenly_. I'd be happy to share…"

"Nice try."

"It's the least I can do. Think of it as thanks for the meal."

"Whoa, what makes you think I'm paying for you?"

"Love, if gold coin is accepted legal tender in this world, then I will _gladly_ foot our bill. However, based on those little bits of paper I see everyone else waving around…"

Emma scoffs, amused. "You've had weeks to adjust, quit pretending to be so helpless."

"I'm just a simple pirate, lass."

"A pirate lass? You've been holding out on me, haven't you."

He's smiling. _She's_ smiling. It's such a little thing, but Emma doesn't think she's smiled like this in a very long time. She isn't thinking about anything, just bantering back and forth, and it seems like only a moment before they've both finished eating.

Ruby looks at her curiously as she pays, shooting glances at Hook waiting by the door. Emma, confidence buoyed by the easy conversation – or perhaps the lack of sleep – stares back calmly. This will all be getting back to Mary Margaret before the day is out, she knows, but she doesn't care.

She walks through town to the police station with her head held high, pirate captain strolling along next to her. They hardly talk at all, but this silence is no less comfortable than the flirting that preceded it, and Emma's still high on the _simplicity_ of it all. Her head's buzzing with it.

Hook pauses at the station door. For a single, insane moment, Emma has the urge to give him a goodnight kiss, nevermind that it's eight in the morning.

He hesitates, then says, "Till next time?"

Neil has been back for three days and she hasn't spoken to him yet. He's _alive_ and he said he loves her. She said she loves him. She – she _does_ love him. That's never been the question.

She just doesn't think she can ever trust him again.

"Hook," Emma says. She knows she'll regret this as soon as she gets some sleep. This could be a step forward or just a new form of running – she can't tell. She doesn't care. Right now, she doesn't care about anything else. She can't. "Next time, you pay. No more of this dubloon crap."

He's _surprised_ , that's what really gets her.

"As you wish," he promises with a flamboyant bow. Emma is struck with a sudden fear that any day she's going to bump into Westley and Buttercup at the gas station or something – god, fairy tales. She is living in a town of _fairy tales_. This is the first time she's really had time to let that sink in and it's long overdue.

A lot of things are long overdue.


	3. Chapter 3

_Emma_ , the paper says. _Emma. Emma. Emma. Emma. Emma. Emma. Emma._

Emma went through a wardrobe as a newborn baby. Emma was abandoned to the foster care system; Emma learned to take care of herself very quickly. Emma learned that if you want something, only _you_ can make it happen. Only you can choose who you are.

Emma makes some bad decisions, but at least they are her decisions. Emma falls in love. Emma's left behind again, but she at least has herself, she can choose who to be and after a year in prison she decides it's time to start looking out for herself again. Time to stop making stupid decisions.

( _Emma,_ it says, _Emma. Emma. Emma. Emma. Emma. Emma._ )

Emma is her only friend, only guide. She's her only law, she decides who and how to be, for ten years until Henry comes to her door. Still, it's her choice to stay in Storybrooke, her choice to try and help Henry, her choice to try and take down Regina, her choice to love her son.

Her choice to believe.

Her choice to try and save Regina. Her choice to leave Hook behind on that beanstalk. Her choices – not always the best but _hers_ , she's always known that is the one thing no one can ever take away from her.

_Emma_ , Rumpelstiltskin wrote, over and over again in squid ink that could have set him free. _Emma. Emma. Emma. Emma. Emma. Emma. Emma._

She is the destined savior.

Choice has never been a factor.

_Emma_ , the paper says. _Emma. Emma. Emma._ _Emma. Emma. Emma. Emma._

* * *

"Emma," Hook says, and she glances up from Henry's book. She's about to say hello, until she catches sight of the look in his eyes.

It's familiar. Dark, and angry – she recognizes it instantly.

She closes the book on her lap.

"What's wrong?" Emma asks, throat tensing. He doesn't respond, just staring at her for a long, silent moment. "Hook?"

His jaw clenches. He takes a step forward. "No," he says, voice low. "Your boy is fine. Your family is fine."

He's reading her mind like always. But Emma doesn't so much as sigh in relief, because Hook's still eyeing her in a way that has her bracing for a blow. If no one is in danger, then this means he's angry at _her_.

She has an idea why.

"Okay. Maybe we should take this somewhere else, then," Emma says, and stands up, putting Henry's book in her bag as she does. She's been half-expecting this confrontation, but that doesn't mean she's eager to have it in the middle of the park, where just anyone might walk by.

Surprisingly, Hook doesn't protest. He just stares at her for several more burning seconds, before turning and leading the way through town. Emma follows quietly, watching the stiff set of his shoulders, his too-quick stride. Oh, he is _furious_.

He leads her all the way across town to the docks, his ship. Emma hesitates to follow him aboard, but only for a moment. It's the first time she's set foot on the _Jolly Roger_ since returning from Neverland, and there's something strangely nostalgic about it. That swaying underfoot. That sea-salt smell.

"I saw you with _him_ ," Hook snarls, and she jerks her head up to look at him standing by the mast. This is no time to get caught up in her memories. He doesn't turn to face her, though she can tell he wants to.

"We weren't hiding." Emma crosses her arms. Walks up to stand next to him. She's feeling guilty, and that makes her angry. She has nothing to feel guilty _about_. She doesn't answer to Hook.

"What business have you with the crocodile?" Hook finally turns around. He doesn't appear startled to find her so much closer than she was before. In fact, he narrows the space between them even more, taking two short steps to crowd her against the mast. "Why was he _touching you?_ "

Emma rolls her eyes. She wants to lie, despite knowing Hook will spot it in an instant. She doesn't want to fool him – she wants him to _know_ that she's lying, wants him to hurt. It isn't his place to care who she talks to. Who touches her. It's _not_.

"He was _teaching_ me," she corrects, because she is better than this. She won't let Hook's anger rankle her outwardly, no matter how it bothers her internally. "How to control my magic."

Hook slams his hand and hook forward on either side of her head – the left appendage biting deep into the wood – and leans forward into her space. Emma refuses to flinch. "Are you a bloody _imbecile?_ "

"It makes se–"

"Like fuck it makes sense!" Hook's yelling now, his whole body physically shaking. Emma hates that. She hates the emotions he's wearing so clearly, hates that he's actually daring to yell at her for _this_. "You don't need his help!"

She almost hears the _snap_ of her composure shattering. " _Yes I do!_ "

Hook opens his mouth as if to argue, but Emma cuts him off. Forget his fury, _she's_ incandescent with rage. How dare he. How dare he even –

"Do you know how my parents met each other?" she demands. "How Regina was ever able to curse my mom? How my dad was able to find her and save her? How Regina got the curse to send everyone to Storybrooke?"

She's spitting the questions out like curses. Hook's jaw clenches, like he's about to say something, and Emma reaches out and shoves him. He stumbles back, hook prying free from the mast with a creak. She follows, still pushing, still snapping off questions. "Do you know who helped me become Sheriff? Who tricked me into fighting a _dragon_ just to bring back magic? Who summoned the wraith that ended up sending me to the Enchanted Forest? _Do you know how_ _we got out of that cell?_ "

They're almost at the stairs leading to the wheel. Hook hasn't been fighting Emma, but with every step they take, his brow furrows more, and now he finally blocks her arms. Grabs her hands in his, spins her around and smacks her into the wall next to the stairs without looking away once – his three hundred years' knowledge of his ship coming to his advantage. He doesn't seem quite as angry now – more concerned, but the edge is still there in his voice. "What are you telling me?"

"I'm telling you that every step of the way, _every step_ , he's been helping me! It's not anything new!"

" _Emma_. He wasn't helping you – he wasn't ever helping _you_ –"

"You think I don't know that?! You think I don't know that he was just _using me_ , that my whole life was just one of his plots, that every choice I ever made was just something else he'd planned out, that I'm just some – just one of his _pawns_ …" Her voice drops against her will. Emma looks down at the deck, feeling completely out of control and hating it. "I don't even – it's so hard to believe that I'd just _happen_ to fall in love with _his son_. What if even Henry…" she chokes to a halt.

Hook's feet step in next to her own; a second later, warm arms wrap around her. It's not a gentle hug – he yanks her closer so fast that her head smacks painfully into his shoulder, and he's squeezing her so tight it's literally difficult to breathe – but Emma doesn't care. Her own arms wrap around his back, fisting into the leather coat he wears and holding on just as hard.

She has no idea what this is.

"I talked to him about it," she whispers, eyes falling shut. "He said he didn't make me, he just made use of me. I – he was telling the truth. But sometimes, I can't…"

Hook's muttering something into her hair. His voice is so quiet that at first she can't understand what he's saying. "…not you. You're wrong, you're completely wrong Emma…"

Something like a sob scratches in her throat, but she doesn't let it out. "I – there's been too much I couldn't control. This… magic stuff can't be any more of that, I can't let it… I _have_ to get it under control."

Hook doesn't ask what she means by that – he knows, he's witnessed it. Neverland is one of the most magical realms there is, and being there seemed to have some sort of _effect_ on her 'True Love' powers. More than once, Emma's magic saved them from danger – but several times, it did things without her intention. Like when they finally found Henry; they'd been hiding, but Emma's heart had given this _thump_ she could feel all through her, and magic had burst out, knocking Tamara back. She'd only been incapacitated briefly, though, and their entire plan had almost been ruined. They'd almost lost Henry again.

Emma refuses to let that ever happen.

With a sigh, Hook lets go of her. She wishes he hadn't, because it means she has to let go too. She wishes he hadn't touched her in the first place, if he was going to let go.

"Alright, love, I understand. You have to get your magic under control. Alright. But," he ducks his head to meet her eyes. It's the first time he's looked directly at her since they set foot on his ship, and Emma's struck by how bright his eyes are, blue and locked on hers. "Why the _crocodile?_ Anyone else, sweetheart, pick anyone else to teach you – the queen, the fairy – _anyone_. He taught Cora, he taught Regina, he's – don't let him touch you too. Not you, too."

He's lost any semblance of anger. He's not touching her anymore, but they're still within a whisper of each other, and Emma can feel the heat from his body on hers. She can hear the strain in his voice, the _pleading_ she doesn't want to acknowledge because she can't bear to think about what it means.

Who is he to care this much? She isn't _his_ to worry about. They're just friends, they just – they just hang out together a lot, that's all. They haven't ever even kissed. This isn't… she doesn't have to answer to Hook's fears.

She didn't _choose him_ over Neil. She was just exhausted, stressed, not thinking straight and he gave her a break right when she needed it most. They aren't _dating_ or anything, they don't mean that much to each other; they _can't_ mean that much…

"Emma, love," he _begs_ , and she closes her eyes, shivering.

"I can't. It has to be Gold."

" _Why?_ " A bit of the snarl is back, now.

"Because I trust him." Emma takes a deep breath, and opens her eyes. Hook looks like she just stabbed him in the gut. The betrayal in his eyes hurts, all the more because it's not the first time she's put it there, and she aches to reach out to him – but he'd probably only shove her away and this has to be said. "I trust him because of Henry. I trust him not to hurt me because he wouldn't do anything to hurt Henry, and I trust him to teach me because he'll want me to be able to protect Henry as well. If only for Neil's sake – I can trust him to teach me. And he just knows more than Regina, more than even Mother Superior. If this weren't about Henry, I'd go to someone else. But this _is_ about Henry, about his safety and dammit, Hook, I won't settle for anything but the best."

She stares up at him fiercely, willing him to understand. And he does. It's a freaking miracle, considering all his issues with Gold, but she can see the glimmer of acceptance in his eyes. He knows why she has to do this. He always seems to know why. He understands her more than anyone ever has.

"I still can't trust him with you, Emma," Hook says, voice rough. She finds herself swaying in closer, putting her hand on his chest, over his heart. He looks down at her hand, then back at her face.

"I'm not asking you to trust him," Emma says. "I'm asking you to trust _me_."

As soon as the words have left her lips she knows this is no friendship.

She has never asked anyone to trust her. Not since Neil. Not even Neil – she just assumed, then, she wasn't so scarred that she needed to ask. She knows her family trusts her, but it's not the same. That's something family just does.

This is something she's _chosen_.

And she can only hope to god he's chosen the same.

"I…" He's got a great opening to reference the many times she's tied him up, knocked him out, and left him behind. Even earlier in this conversation, she as good as betrayed him. But Hook doesn't mention any of that. He actually chuckles, breaking out into a smile. "Of course I trust you."

"I know I don't deserve it," Emma says shakily.

He lifts his hand and puts it over hers, pressing them both against his heart. "Darling, if there's anyone in the past three hundred years who's deserved my trust… it's you."

That's a ridiculous statement, given how often she's broken his trust. Given how little she's been willing to trust him. But he isn't lying. He isn't even hesitating. He believes what he's saying to be completely true.

She wants to kiss him.

She wants to tell him she trusts him too.

She wants to run.

"Hook," Emma says, not sure what she'll follow it up with. He has this tiny little smile on his face. And she thinks, again, _this is something I chose_. "I've got a book you might like to read."

She pulls away, reaches into her bag and pulls out _Once Upon A Time_. She can't kiss him now, and she certainly can't tell him she trusts him. She – just can't, not yet. But she refuses to run. So… at least this is something. It's something.

"It's Henry's, so be careful with it," she says, and swallows hard. "It – there's a lot of interesting stories in there."

He takes it, and flips through it. He stops on the last page; the one she knows has the picture of her as a baby. His eyes jolt back up to hers.

It takes a lot of effort to stand her ground.

But Emma isn't running. Not this time. Her dream last night has only reminded her of something she's always known: people will try to tell her who she is, or what to do. They will _try_ , but only she can _choose_ who to be, what to do, how to live. Only she can choose.

She's choosing this.


	4. Chapter 4

She doesn't go home afterwards. It's her birthday, this is too nice of a dress to waste even with the new stains, and she doesn't want to be alone. She can make sure she isn't alone – at least for tonight. So Emma goes to a bar, and orders herself a drink, and finds herself someone to not be alone with. The next morning she wakes up, head aching a bit, body aching a bit more – but it's a satisfied kind of ache and she smiles. The other half of the bed is empty, but that's okay. That's how she prefers it.

Emma smiles, because it's a bright sunny morning and she has no idea what she's missed.

Or she's in jail, _congratulations you're pregnant_ and she is desperate. She hates Neal and she hates being alone and she hates this place, and she starts a fight. Emma's always been a dirty fighter, but she's outmatched easily enough when she is exhausted and they have the advantage of numbers – three to one. The guards don't take more than five minutes to break it up. But in that time the other women hold her down, one for each of her arms, the last kicking her hard in the gut _one two three_. She wants to scream but she can't breathe. She wants to cry but she can't, she can't do anything, she somehow knows instantly what's gone forever and she can only choke on the linoleum.

Later, when the nurse confirms it for her, Emma makes herself smile. She says, "It's probably better like this, anyway."

Or – worst, worst of all because it was _almost true_ – Emma drives three hours out of Boston. She brings Henry home to his mother. His _real_ mother, she reminds herself, she asked for a closed adoption and she got it. She has no right to this. She has no desire for this – the mere sight of him is terrifying. She drops him off and tells him goodbye (her heart in her throat, she loves him already) and walks back out to her car to find a storybook on the passenger seat.

She smiles a little, puts it in the mailbox, and then drives three hours back to Boston.

* * *

Paige – or Grace, rather – is a sweet girl. Emma's got nothing against her. And she's glad that Henry is making friends his own age, now that the curse is broken. But that doesn't mean Emma's any happier about attending the birthday party of Jefferson's daughter. She can understand him better now, certainly, and he doesn't seem like he's got any inclination to go kidnapping anyone now that he has his daughter back, but… Emma doesn't like spending time around him.

He almost got her believing. At least, he got her as close as was possible at the time. She'd read his story obsessively, trying to understand. Now she feels like she knows him all too well, knows just how _mad_ he truly is, because she almost went off that deep end herself. She'd been prepared to take Henry and leave everything behind – and Jefferson had spent _twenty-eight_ years watching Grace through telescopes, unwilling to shatter her happy curse life.

His is a sad story, but he did also kidnap her and her mother. And the theme is a frigging tea party, at that. Emma tags along because she can't make herself _not_ , but she doesn't enjoy it and she's exceptionally glad when it's time to leave. Since it's a nice day (and Jefferson's eyes had been wet as he watched Grace blow out her birthday candles, he'd whispered "finally, finally" and no one else heard but Emma did), she lets herself get whimsical; without telling Henry where she's going, Emma switches directions and drives to the beach instead of home.

The castle's long gone, but Henry's eyes light up anyway, and he laughs. Then they crest the hill and he laughs even louder, because just around the curve of the coast is a familiar figure.

"Hey! Captain!" he yells, running across the beach to where Hook is sitting on a driftwood log, staring at the water. Emma follows more slowly, taking her time.

"Henry, lad," Hook's nodding as she strolls up to them. He turns and grins at her, and her breath clicks in her throat. "Emma."

"Hook," she acknowledges. "What are you doing here?"

He shrugs, and gestures with his hook at the beach. "Merely a stroll along the coast."

Emma sighs and sits down next to him. She closes her eyes for a moment, avoiding his gaze. Henry starts talking eagerly, telling Hook about the birthday party and segueing less-smoothly-than-he-thinks into asking just how old Hook _is_ , actually.

"I can't rightly say," the pirate muses. When Emma opens her eyes, he's still looking right at her, something odd in his gaze; even as he talks, he only glances away to Henry briefly. "Several centuries, certainly, but Neverland doesn't lend herself to keeping track."

Henry starts asking questions about what Hook did during all that time, and Hook indulges him with a tale about a mermaid he knew who wanted to marry a human prince, but Emma lets her thoughts slip away from the conversation, dwelling on what Hook just said.

Centuries. She stares out at the waves, trying to imagine that. Hook has spent literally hundreds of years seeking revenge for Milah – and she stops there, not daring to ask the obvious _why'd he stop_. She knows why: he got his revenge, or thought he did anyway, and realized just how empty it was. And then she offered him the chance to be a part of something again, and… and he took it, that's all. Emma refuses to ascribe any more meaning to it than that, even though a large part of her is emphatically calling bullshit.

But… he'd spent centuries. And Jefferson spent twenty-eight years watching his daughter through a telescope.

And Emma spent ten years not caring.

"Henry, do you mind terribly taking a walk?" Emma glances up and Hook's flashing a grin at the kid, but his eyes are still on her. "Your mother and I need to speak."

Her son looks at her worriedly, and Emma almost wants to let him refuse for her. Henry likes Hook, for saving him and for telling him stories and just for being a pirate captain, but he's well aware of the man's 'villain' status. Not that Henry's ever seen things as that black and white, but with Regina for a mother, he has a lot of practice in having to second-guess people he loves.

Likes.

Knows.

…Whatever.

"It's fine, Henry," Emma says, even though she has a feeling it probably isn't. She doesn't know what Hook wants to talk to her about. She doesn't really _want_ to know. But she's promised herself that she isn't going to run anymore, not from this. Whatever _this_ is. She isn't ready to think about it yet, she isn't ready to believe in – she won't run.

She hasn't been alone with him since their fight/therapy session/whatever the hell it was on his ship over a week ago, and she feels like a hypocrite and a liar.

Henry walks off, casting glances back at them every now and then. Emma waits until he's out of hearing distance before turning to look at Hook. He's staring directly at her, his blue eyes serious.

"You've been avoiding me," he says: straight to the point. It's such an Emma thing to do that she can't help the little huff of laughter which escapes her.

"I, um." She glances at Henry again, making absolutely sure he's far enough away. He's by the waterline, crouching to look at something in the sand. "Yeah. I – sorry."

He shrugs one shoulder, watching her carefully. Trying to figure out what she's thinking. "You won't be keeping your distance forever, I presume."

Emma's heart stops. "What?"

Hook's stare catches on her own. He leans in closer. "Your son's book. I imagine he'll be wanting it back eventually?"

"R-right." This is ridiculous. Emma takes a deep breath and evens her tone back to something approaching normal. "Yeah, he'll be wanting that back pretty soon. I'll drop by the docks soon and get it, if you're done reading."

"I may not be royalty, princess, but I assure you it doesn't take me a week to read a children's book," Hook smirks. "You're welcome to pick it up anytime. Tonight, perhaps. I'll wait up for you –"

"Yeah, right. I'm sure you'd be happy to stay up _all night long_." Emma rolls her eyes, but she's thankful for the flirtatious banter. It's taken the intense edge off of this conversation, relaxing it back into something she can handle.

Or so she thinks, at least, until Hook leans in a little closer and murmurs, eyes dropping to her lips, "Oh, I'll stay much longer than that, Emma."

Holy _shit_.

Emma jerks to her feet, physically stepping back where she can't emotionally. She wants to believe that was just banter, all of that was – but the thought has her superpower going off like crazy and she can't. She just… can't.

Hook stands too, after a stiff moment. He still has that smirk on his face, but it seems less natural now. Like he's making himself maintain the expression. He lifts his hand, scratches at the back of his neck for a second, before dropping his arm. His voice is soft, oddly soothing in contrast to the cocky expression he's plastered on his face. "I – of course, there's no rush. I've got the book; it won't come to any harm, so… take your time. I'm a patient man, Emma."

Emma can only imagine what she looks like right now. Wide eyes, breathing hard – she probably looks seconds away from bolting. The weird thing is, she isn't. Running isn't even a consideration right now, because Hook – Hook looks nervous. He looks like a man who has just realized he's pushed too far, who's hoping he hasn't screwed things up, but is resigned that he most likely has, for now.

He looks like a man who wouldn't stop her from running, but would simply sigh at himself and trudge after her and have this whole conversation again. And again after that, and after _that_ , as many times as necessary.

"You… really are, huh," she mutters, sitting back down gingerly. "Is it just – is that just an Enchanted Forest thing? Is that – it must be."

Hook stays standing, looking down at her. The smirk twists off his face, changing to something very lost and longing for a moment before his face blanks. "Care to elaborate, love?"

"I just mean – look, Henry and I just came from the birthday party of a little girl named Grace. Her father, he… he remembered everything. She was living with another family for the past twenty-eight years, she didn't even remember him, and he was just there watching her the whole time, just… making hats." Emma shudders at the thought. Hook's still looking at her like he doesn't quite get what point she's making. She isn't sure what point she's making either, come to think of it, but – "And then there's… Regina, she planned her revenge against my mother for years. Cora waited even longer to get to Regina. And my parents, they were ready to wait twenty-eight years for me to break the curse. Even Gold, he waited centuries to find Neil. And of course, _you_ – I'm not like that. I gave Henry up for adoption when he was born, and I didn't even look for him once in ten years. I spent… two years waiting in Tallahassee, but I gave up. I can't – I'm not like the rest of you."

Hook makes a small sound, a kind of 'oh, I get it' sound, and finally sits back down on the log. Emma sure hopes he gets it, because _she_ has no clue. Apparently whatever it is he's figured out, it's good, because he's smiling for real now. It's the same kind of surprised, impressed look he tossed at her so many times on top of the beanstalk.

"Do you know my personal motto, Emma?" he grins.

She blinks at the non sequitur. "Uh, something to do with rum, maybe. Or treasure. No, wait, wenches."

He chuckles with genuine mirth. "This particular phrase quite handily covers all three. 'A man unwilling to fight for what he wants… deserves what he gets.'"

"A 'man?'" Emma quips, because she can tell he expects it. Really, she's just thinking how fitting that actually is for him.

"Naturally, this goes for women as well," Hook winks, before sobering. "Now, I can't speak for this man who made… hats, but in every other case, don't you think it's not so much the _waiting_ that has so impressed you?"

And Emma gets it. "The hats were supposed to open portals to a world where he could be with his daughter," she says blankly, still reeling. He's _right_ , he's absolutely right. Even her parents… theirs wasn't exactly in the typical sense, but waiting can be its own type of fight. She knows that from two years in Tallahassee. "But they never worked."

"Ah." Hook stretches his legs out before him, casually crossing one over the other at the ankle. "You see? We are a rather persistent lot."

"But, I –"

"And in the time I've known you, you have struck me as by far the most persistent citizen of this realm," Hook interrupts. He's looking down at his lap, picking at the tip of his hook. "I for one have faith that you will continue to fight for what you want."

Emma swallows hard. "Hook…"

"Of course," he goes on, peering intently at his hook, not looking at her. She sees his Adam's apple bob up and down in the pause before he says, "the first step is deciding what it is you want."

Without a thought, Emma looks for Henry. She spots him a ways along the beach, walking with his hands in his pockets, kicking idly at the sand. She turns back to Hook next, in time to catch him watching her before he looks away quickly.

She stares at him.

He fiddles with his hook.

"I know what I want," Emma says. She's surprised by how strong, how certain her voice is. Hook looks up at her, too slowly to be entirely casual, and raises an eyebrow.

"Do you, love?"

"I… yeah," Emma says again. All of a sudden, she knows what she's going to do, and her brain immediately starts trying to justify why she _shouldn't_. This is stupid, she knows she can't just jump into this. Not again. She has to go slow, she has to –

She remembers the look on his face when she turned back around. He said _I'm a patient man, Emma_ but he's been staring at her since she sat down. He said he'd stay much longer than a night and he can't trust Gold with her, and Henry thinks he's awesome and he came back, he actually came back, and he trusts her and he lets her rest when she needs to and he's still just _looking_ at her and.

And waiting is a lot harder than it sounds.

(And to be perfectly honest, the sexual tension has always been ridiculous.)

So Emma leans over and kisses Hook on the cheek, just next to his lips. He _shivers_ then holds absolutely still, and she lingers a lot longer than she really needs to. Taking it all in: the sound of the waves, the salt smell, the roughness of his scruff against her lips, the warmth of his skin.

"I know what I want," she breathes.

" _Emma_ ," Hook says, turning to her, eyes wide, hand reaching up to her cheek.

" _Mom_ ," Henry says, scandalized, and they jump away from each other like they're teenagers caught by their parents (which is probably ironic, somehow). He's got his arms crossed, glaring down at them from not three feet away and Emma wants to ask how the hell he got back here so fast – "Did you just _kiss_ Captain _Hook?_ "

"Uh – I, Henry," Emma says. She might actually be blushing. She can't remember the last time she's blushed. They're both staring at her now, though, and all she can say is a flustered, "um. Don't tell your grandpa?"

She still has a million doubts about this. A million issues to work through and she's sure there will be a million things she's not ready for. Things _Hook_ won't be ready for. This is going to be complicated and scary, it is _now_ and it's only just begun, and worst of all Emma already dreads it ending – because it _will_ , there's no way she and Hook could ever last.

But Hook's smile is crinkling his eyes, making him look boyish, innocent, _happy_. Henry's getting over his shock and he actually seems excited; he's starting to grin his huge let's-think-of-a-codename grin. And she feels a hot flash of joy, looking at them, she thinks _this is what I want,_ _ **this**_ _._

So, damn it, Emma's going to fight.


	5. Chapter 5

In the dream, there’s never any question about leaving. It’s not a matter of abandoning her family or running away or anything like that, maybe it’s something she has to do or maybe it’s something she just _wants_ to do. None of that matters.

What matters is this: Emma grew up alone, without anything familiar to hold on to. She had a blanket and a book, and the book didn’t survive foster home number four. She didn’t even have any caseworkers who stuck with her for more than a year or two. She certainly didn’t have any family or friends, and she certainly didn’t have a home. That was never even a possibility.

What matters is this: she has never once in her life thought of a place or person as _home_ until Neal and Tallahassee and a year of jail and two years of waiting and a shattered heart.

What matters is this: Emma intended only to bring Henry home. Then she intended only to stay the night, then only the week, then she intended to stay as long as her son might need her, however long that could last. She did not pack anything to take with her – had a couple boxes delivered, but that was it. She did not clean out her apartment. She did not lose anything she cared about, or even much she didn’t, because there had always been a duffel bag of essentials in the trunk of her car and no one missed her once she was gone.

What matters is this: she left, and she could leave, and it was easy.

What matters in the dream, what matters most of all and has her waking hot with fear, is this: Emma is standing at the Storybrooke town border. She is staring down at the white paint marking the limits of the town, her toes rocking against the edge.

And she cannot cross the line.

* * *

 

“Hook!” Emma snaps, banging her fist against his cabin door. “Hook! Wake up!”

She’s just about to bust on in regardless of the fact that he hasn’t answered her yet, when the door swings open in front of her. Hook’s clearly just woken up: his eyes are bleary, his expression confused. The shirt he’s thrown on isn’t buttoned, and his hair is extremely messy. For a moment Emma wants nothing more than to tangle her hands in it and shove him right back into bed.

But, no. That’s not why she came.

“Emma – what’s going on?” He yawns, and Emma laughs. She is aware of how false it sounds; the sound clearly gets Hook’s attention. He straightens, repeats her name sharply. “Emma?”

“Nothing’s going on,” she says, so blatant a lie he doesn’t even bother to look skeptical. “I just. I have the day off. And I want to spend it – I want to go sailing. With you.”

Hook blinks. For a second, Emma wonders if she’s pushing too hard. This… thing they’ve got, it’s not really at the level of romantic day-trips yet. It’s not at the level of much of anything really, no one even knows about it and they don’t spend any more time together than they did before she kissed him. They’ve kissed a few times since, but nothing more – they always seem to get interrupted.

Then he starts to smirk, he bites his lip a little and his fingers reach out to graze against her shoulder before combing through his hair. “Eager, aren’t you?” he asks smugly. “I should’ve known you couldn’t get enough of this.”

He’s started to button his shirt, and gently nudges past Emma to head up to the deck. It’s barely dawn, but Hook doesn’t seem to care. He takes a deep breath of the salt air, and his grin is so relaxed that Emma can feel her shoulders loosening despite herself.

“This?” she asks skeptically.

“This! The _Jolly Roger_ ,” Hook gestures at the ship, as though there was never any other possible meaning to his statement. It’s so utterly devoid of innuendo for once, and he looks so _pleased_ with Emma for her presumed devotion to his ship, that she can’t help but smile. “Fastest ship in all the realms.”

Emma joins Hook in untying the ropes that keep them attached to the docks, but quirks an eyebrow at him. “You know, we’ve got boats with engines in this world that would outrun this old thing any day.”

The face he makes at that has her laughing out loud, and it’s easy to fall into Neverland’s routine, securing ropes and adjusting sails and basically doing whatever Hook yells at her. It’s simple: menial, mindless and Emma really likes that sometimes. Soon they are setting out to sea, grinning into the rising sun, working together with an ease that has always been unnervingly present. They pick up speed pretty quickly, leaving Storybrooke behind. They sail out into the ocean, falling silent, and for at least one or two hours don’t say a word to each other.

Emma breaks the silence first, but only because she knows Hook is waiting for her to do so. If he weren’t expecting some sort of heavy conversation, he would have made a lot more innuendos by now. Besides, it’s not as though her behavior today hasn’t been transparent enough for anyone to figure out, nevermind the one who claims to be able to read her like a book.

“Thanks,” she says, leaning over the railing and staring down at the water rushing past. It’s turning out to be a clear, sunny day, but there’s still enough of a wind for them to get up to a pretty good speed. “I needed this, I think.”

Hook doesn’t reply for a while; when Emma glances up he’s heading down the stairs towards her, having secured the wheel so they don’t blow off course – if they even have a course, but whatever.

“How could I ever deny a lass her longing for the sea?” Hook settles in next to Emma with a wink. “It’s the pirate in you, Swan.”

Any other day, Emma would scoff at that. Today, she smirks faintly and muses, “I always have preferred to live near beaches.”

They lapse back into silence for a bit and it’s – nice. Weirdly so. Emma wouldn’t have expected Hook to be the kind of man one could share a silence with; he always seemed like he’d need to constantly keep pushing for _more_. Not sexually, necessarily, but just – more conversation, more information, more prying about her past and secrets and everything, really.

To be fair, that impression was formed climbing the beanstalk with him, when he had little else to do besides pick her apart, but somehow it’s still a pleasant surprise to Emma every time he’s so… patient, so calm with her.

It’s also hugely annoying, because it somehow gets her to open up every time, and she’s _sure_ he does that on purpose.

“I just... needed to get away,” she admits when she can’t stand the quiet any longer. “It’s – I’ve never actually stayed in one place this long before, let alone with a bunch of people who care what I do, and I just – I get claustrophobic, sometimes.”

Hook looks – honestly, a little smitten, when she glances his way, and he nudges closer, casually insinuating an arm around her waist. His fingers stroke against the edge of her jeans, and Emma has to bite back a smile because even though it’s all so obviously practiced, there’s this little hesitation to his movements until she relaxes into the touch, this tentative edge that collects sparks in her gut.

“Gods, woman, it’s like you were _made_ for m– for my ship.” He mutters, shifting so he’s partially behind her and can lean his head over her shoulder, nuzzling at her neck. His embrace is hot and close around her, his scruff burning lightly against her skin, and Emma relaxes with a slow sigh. She’s still holding on to the railing, but leaning her weight back into him, tilting her head to give him better access as he places small kisses along her neck and shoulder and jaw, and it’s all so… slow, so unhurried and just nice. It’s – this is _lovely_ , not a word she’d ever have associated with Hook, but it is. There’s not even any expectation of this going anywhere right now, not really, he’s just – he just wanted to kiss her like this – and so he did. That’s all this is, it’s a, it’s such a simple, important thing, like how David will just grab Mary Margaret and pull her into a kiss sometimes, a long slow aching one, and then he’ll smile and she’ll smile and they’ll just continue on with whatever they were doing, and that’s – this is something very much like that.

It sends Emma’s stomach swooping. She feels seventeen, giddy and reckless in a way she’s learned _not to be_ and –

“What if I said I wanted to stay – on your ship, that is?” Emma asks. “You’re always saying I should’ve been a pirate, what if I took you up on that offer?”

Hook pauses, obviously well aware of the trap in her words, and she can feel his smirk against her skin. “I must say, darling, I doubt I’d be able to turn you down. If you were willing, I’d aim us towards the horizon right now and we’d be gone, simple as that.”

She must stiffen up or something, because he chuckles and places a light kiss against the corner of her jaw before he goes on: “But don’t taunt me love, you’d never go for it. Not while you’ve got Henry.”

“What if I did?” Emma says, feeling at once relieved and oddly defiant. She pushes out of Hook’s embrace and turns around to meet his eyes. “If I – sometimes I want to just leave it all behind, just _go_ , and Henry’s – he has his grandparents, and Regina, and Neal now – so what if I said let’s go?”

Hook’s smile twists, bitter at the edges. “You wouldn’t,” he repeats firmly. “I know you wouldn’t, I possess a certain… familiarity, with this conundrum. I know you would never leave your son, nor would you take him with you and separate him from the rest of his family. But make no mistake – if you ever asked, I’d take you in a heartbeat.”

The last sentence has got an edge of threat to it, a darkness that’s the vengeful Captain Hook at his finest. Emma should take that as the warning it obviously is, should back off, back away, maybe even tell Hook to turn this ship the hell around _now_ , but she doesn’t. Instead, his words are a _relief_ , somehow.

“That’d be pretty selfish of you,” she notes mildly, resting her elbows on the railing behind her.

“I’ve never pretended to be otherwise,” Hook shrugs. “I am an eminently selfish man.”

“You are,” Emma laughs, and that swooping feeling is back, her breath feeling tight in her throat because she’s never had someone who would be selfish with her before. Someone who would freely _admit_ their willingness to be selfish if she allowed it, to actually _help_ her leave everything behind if she ever wanted. Someone to give her that freedom so _easily_ – and for such a reason. “Thanks. For… for the option.”

Hook arches an eyebrow, but doesn’t ask. Emma steps forward and pulls his head down to kiss him – long and slow and _aching_ – and then slips neatly away, going over to a barrel and pulling out two swords.

“I’m sure you’ve missed telling me how terrible my form is,” she calls out, tossing one of the blades his way, and Hook’s already grinning, snatching it out of the air with a flourish.

“Oh, you’ve quite the stunning _form_ , love,” he leers, before pressing forward so suddenly and with such strength that Emma stumbles backwards across the deck, “it’s your stance that needs work!”

She snarls and fights back, and that’s how they spend the day. It’s… this should feel weird, Emma came here trying just to get away from everything, just to prove that she _could_ , but instead she’s falling in further. She came looking for an escape – and he gave it to her but she feels like she’s making promises instead of taking the out, like she’s settling in for the long haul.

She came expecting – anything but this, really, they fight until the sun is high and they’re both sweaty and exhausted, and then they wander down to the galley for a lunch of overripe apples and stale bread (Hook’s been eating out mostly, “sampling your realm’s variety of cuisines”, he defends at her sharp glance, and if she’d known she would’ve brought sandwiches or something), and then back to the deck. Hook takes her about the ship, explaining everything they had no immediate need of or time for in Neverland, all of it intertwined with tales of life at sea and Emma listens with fascination. She climbs to the crow’s nest and stares out at where the sky curves into the sea, and Hook yells up at her to get back down and keep him company.

They kiss, too. Everywhere, almost compulsively. Against the mast after she finally climbs back down, among the barrels of rum and wine, over the wheel, on the stairs, on the deck, in the hallway, everywhere. Sometimes it’s hotter, wetter, Hook gripping under her ass and lifting, stumbling forward to sit her on a crate where they can press closer and devour each other; sometimes barely-there and lingering, more the feel of his hand cupping her cheek and his breath mixing with hers, her eyes dragging shut and then slowly open again – but all of it has the same sense of giddiness. There’s something unreal about all of this, an innocent haze of simple pleasures.

Emma has never been the type of girl to take things slow. Sexual foreplay was one thing, but she’d never bothered with a long courtship, not even with her first boyfriend. Not even with Neal. She highly doubts Hook has either, and maybe that’s why they let themselves have this, just today. God knows, at some points she wants nothing more than to drag him to the nearest comfortable bed – and judging by the way his tour covered everything but his quarters, he finds the idea equally compelling. But there’s something juvenile and ridiculous and heartwarming about just _this_ , and while ‘taking things slow’ will probably only last for this one day, Emma wants to make the most of it while it does.

When they’re navigating their way back to Storybrooke, Emma notices Hook is using the compass they took from Anton. She has no idea how he got that – he must have stolen it from her apartment, probably before they even went to Neverland – but she laughs and kisses him and steals it out of his hand while he’s distracted. And it’s simple and childish and silly, because that’s what today has been for, something slow-paced and sweet for once, and she doesn’t want it to end. She knows it will end, she knows that all of this – this slow and easy, simple and fun – all of it, it’s not really _them_. It’s not really real. She knows that. She’s all too aware that this is a once-off experience, and she knows better than to cling to anything about it all that much.

They dock at dusk but Emma wants this to last so much longer.


End file.
